Misery's Miscreation
by Subtle Serenity
Summary: Ulquiorra Cifer- a cold, cynical insomniac with nihilistic tendencies who is married to his job. But he may have met his match in Orihime Inoue, a positive minded, seemingly unbreakable optimist...and now his new intern. Drabble fic.
1. File 01

**Misery's Miscreation**

* * *

He awoke at 7:00, his biological clock arising him from a sleep that was not slumber so much as it was the complete annihilation of the him from the day prior. His 'sleep' was a brief, futile thing, filled with an oblivious darkness that was as close to happiness as he could ever get. Perhaps then, that was why it was elusive- sometimes it came quickly, snatching him without hope for escape- more often, he lay, wide awake until the sun warmed his skin from between tightly closed blinds. He sat up- to an empty room filled with only the barest of necessities. A bed- a closet, a desk. He was not a frivolous man by any means, despite his wealth. He could not see the point of 'furnishing' a place that was merely a dwelling for 'rest'. The sun, peeking through the tightly closed blinds, always seemed to cause him the mildest of annoyances, ones that he easily overlooked.

He always slept bare chested, as if he could even feel the whisper of the clean white sheets against his skin. He would rise, turn, and make his bed. Cold white sheets without a wrinkle, as if a body had never lain there. He didn't use a pillow, preferring the firm feel of the mattress. It would have been uncomfortable he supposed, were he a lesser man. If he could feel it.

Padded softly to the closet. Open- crisp white uniforms perfectly draped across hangers, pressed to perfection. He takes out one, drapes it across his bed. Closes Closet. It has been exactly five minutes. He walks across the room to his closed bedroom door, opens it and steps out into a dark hall. Walks into his bathroom, five steps down and on the right. The bathroom is as bleak and desolate as his bedroom. White walls. Sink. Toilet. Empty shower. He removes his boxers, folds them, and places them on the counter by the sink. He takes a cold shower always, even though he is wide awake. He watches it swirl down the drain, the black mass of his hair dripping down his face. Another five minutes. He grabs a towel from the shower bar, dries himself. Takes his boxers in hand and walks, naked, back to the bedroom. Dresses. Pulls on perfectly creased black pants, zips up a crisp white jacket. Shoes. His hair is dry. He runs a hand through it. Leaves his bedroom, closes the door behind him. Walks down the hall. The kitchen and living room adjoining the hall is just as empty and bleak. He passes through it, opens the front door. The light on the other side of it does not make him pause. He closes the door behind him. He never locks it. There's no point.

* * *

From his dwelling to his place of employment it takes thirteen minutes.

He covers it in five.

He walks quickly, head high, hands in pocket, eyes open but not seeing anything. He dutifully pauses at the intersection, busy with early morning traffic. As if deaf, he does not hear the clamoring of the school children to his left, nor the honking of car horns behind him, nor the chatter of the women heading to work on his other side. He is aware of it, like one is aware of flies buzzing around rotten flesh, but he pays it no mind. If he thought about it too hard, he'd become aware of how much he hated them. How much he loathed those children laughing, despised the idle chatter of ignorant women, and how annoying the sound of the horns were. But he noticed none of those things. He was a walking void.

The building he approaches is tall, sleek, white paneled and gleaming in the sunlight. _Hueco Mundo Enterprises. _It was only the ignorant and naïve around him, the foolish who did not notice the warning sign when they read it. He never missed the irony of it, if he were one to care about such things. The doors slide open to permit him entry, and he walks into a hollow world. The ground floor was the only one that seemed to remotely relate to any manner of human comfort. Gleaming porcelain floors, wall paintings of the moon hovering over white sand. Potted plants at the door, blooming white flowers. A desk before him, with the company logo _HM_ engraved into the back wall with an elaborate design of a crescent moon intertwining between the letters. The girls at the desk raised their heads to greet him with a smile- which falls the moment they see his face.

One of them, blond with short hair, hurried to avoid his gaze as she busied herself with work. The other- black hair and pigtails, scowled at him with biting eyes, as if she would have liked nothing better than to rip him to pieces. He ignores the both of them, but he can feel the girl's glare along his back as he walks towards the elevator and stands before it. It opens immediately. He walks into the cool darkness, turning as the door closes behind him. The numbers blink at him in the dark, gleaming. He is on the ground floor, and the numbers only go up from here, with the lowest numbers residing near the top of the building. He presses the number _4_ and waits.

There is no feeling of vertigo, he merely ascends as a balloon being caught on the wind. A moment later the doors part for him and he is once more staring into the white. He steps out onto his floor. Although the long hall that meets him has many doors, no one resides in any of them. He has never requested help or assistance from hapless newcomers to the company, therefore he has no need for any of the other offices. This floor, cold and silent, is his. Sometimes he can hear the girls of the floor above him- three of them- bickering amongst themselves before they are reprimanded by a cool voice. Others, below him he can hear a sinister creeping voice, and a nagging one. But a majority of the time there is nothing.

7:30. He walks into his office, quietly labeled: _Ulquiorra Cifer- Cuatro._- and walks in.

* * *

His work is mindless. He does it without complaint, will or thought, his only focus on accomplishing the job at hand. He finishes any and all tasks set before him quickly, efficiently, with steady hands and eyes that do not waver. He does not take lunch breaks- he does not even move from his position behind his desk until it is time for him to leave. He cannot find any meaning in it. His office is as empty as everything else he owns- filled with nothing but the necessities. He never has reason to take anything to and from his place of employment, since he finishes everything in a timely manner. And when it was time to leave, he left the same way. Closing doors behind him. Elevator opens. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. His expression does not move as he steps beside the man in the elevator. The doors close.

Grimmjow grins at him like a beast, revealing a row of teeth, his eyes always wild.

"_Heh!_ What do ya know? I forgot you even still worked here, considering you hole up all the damn time. Still got that stick up your ass?" He leans forward as if he wants to check. His taunt is met with silence. His mocking grin quickly turns into a scowl. "Well fuck you too then. Hell I don't know why I even tried with you. I just figured I'd clue you in on some shit since you never fucking leave. You probably already know."

"Grimmjow Jaegarjaquez." He begins suddenly, quietly, all though the words have been in his mind long before they were spoken aloud. "You would do well to pay me the proper respect as your superior." He does not say more than that blatant command. No more words are needed. Grimmjow glares at him like the girl from behind the counter- hate. But that does not upset him. They are comrades, regardless of the man's feelings on his end, and his lack of on the other. Grimmjow was a brash, loud mouthed and foul tongued fool but he was competent. That was all that mattered.

"Fine asshole. Just thought I'd let you know that Aizen's called a meeting, which probably means some shit has gone down. He wants all of us to come up right now. You'd know that too if you, ya know, had a _fucking phone."_

He virtually ignored the remainder of the statement, outside of _Aizen _and _meeting. _Aizen-sama. The only constant worth working for in the midst of an otherwise seemingly futile existence. Realizing at this moment that Grimmjow should have taken it upon himself to relay this important piece of information sooner, he presses the button for the top floor. The highest floor in the system is one, but everyone who worked here knew that there was a floor that existed beyond it. It had no number, no name. He places his hands in his pockets, stares at Grimmjow as the elevator floats to the top. His uniform is wrinkled, disheveled- he alone and Nnoitra perhaps, had the ability of making all of that white appear dirty somehow. Filthy. _Trash. _It was a word that often came to mind, and suited him. Because Trash wasn't worth the thought, energy or will. Which was why it justified not giving it the slightest attention. Those who couldn't prove their worth were _Trash. _

And this was one of his rules, and it was absolute.

* * *

The meeting room was simply that. A room in which they gathered upon occasion to be duly informed of pertinent information pertaining to their work, from Aizen himself. The room was dark, besides the glow of light shining down the length of the long white table, the black wall on the other end of it led to the other end of this floor, which none of them were permitted entry to, including himself. The upper superiors did their work there, the likes of which he need not know nor question.

The long table was nearly filled when the elevator door parted and permitted them entry. The white clothed figures around the table met his eyes briefly, but he mostly ignored the questioning looks he received. He walked around the long table, took his seat silently besides Tier Harribel, who gave him an equally silent nod of recognition that he mutely understood. Blond haired, blue eyed and dark skinned she stood out as the only female on the board. She was also one of his superiors, but he did not mind her. She had proved her worth, and he was content to not challenge her for her position as _Tres._ To his right however, was another matter. Nnoitra Gilga, tall, lanky and gaunt with eyes like a snake. The man eyed him with blatant distaste, wagging his tongue in a subconscious movement that he never seemed to be able to control. This man he knew, would easily seize his position if given the chance. Which he never was.

He takes note of everyone else. Szayel Granz came dashing in a moment later, lab cloak fluttering, his hands still gloved, protective goggles hastily pushed back over pink hair, glasses fogged. He had been in the midst of an experiment perhaps- his face was tight and flushed as he seated himself, as if he would have liked to run back the way he had come. Coyote Stark, a naturally lazy man further down the table, yawned loudly into the palm of his hand. Baraggan Louisenbairn, the oldest member of the board, snorted in displeasure under his breath. The rest of them sat silently, patiently waiting. He closed his eyes and went into the void. When he opened them again, the doors had parted and they walked in.

Gin Ichimaru comes through first, silver haired and silver tongued. His eyes are narrow slits, as if he is squinting in the face of a harsh light that only he could see, with a marked smile that never seemed to leave his face. He seats himself in the three remaining seats at the head of the table, and is soon followed by Kaname Tousen, a dark skinned man with shades obscuring the upper half of his face. Although they all know him to be blind, it is not something easily evident. He seats himself as well, with a calculated carefulness.

Aizen comes in last. Tall, slick brown hair, eyes that always appeared friendly yet cold in their openness. His smiles, easily found and readily available, always appeared to be shallow to a certain extent. Like a man who smiled merely to mock the act of smiling. He never felt real, a man that could not be 'known.' However he had a brilliant mind and a undeniable will, who always spoke with sin on his tongue, in his promises, seeping through his words. They didn't know him, who he was, or what he did. But he was lord and master here, and he was to be obeyed. In the entirety of his existence, Aizen had been the only man he could respect. Perhaps even…take pride in. He had nothing else.

Aizen smiled benevolently as he approached, his arms spread in greeting, as if he would have liked nothing better than to gather them to himself.

"Good afternoon my dear swords! I trust that the battlefield has not conquered any of you today?" he stares at each of them in turn, with a slight air of expectancy, as if they will just as cheerfully respond to his subtle coaxing. None of them ever do. They aren't being paid six figures to talk. However this too he has expected- he nods and smiles as if they have all given him exactly what he has asked for.

"Very good then, I am pleased. I suppose many of you are wondering as to the purpose behind this meeting, of which I shall now inform you. It has come to my attention, that HM industries is being questioned about their position on equal opportunity for employment."

'Questioned' of course being Aizen-sama's code word for 'class action lawsuit.'

"As many of you are aware, I place the pride of my illustrious company on the backs of only the most capable of employees. As such, I do not hire anyone but the best. However due to recent events, I have decided that now is the time to perhaps- at the very least- do a little experimentation. Therefore, myself and the executive members of the board have come to a decision. From this point on, Hueco Mundo Industries will show their full compliance to acting in accordance with the law."

Absolute Silence. He didn't spare a glance around the table- most of the silence was expectant- some angry, perturbed even. He knew without question that this matter had nothing to do with Aizen-sama's newly found respect for the law, and everything to do with his competitiveness, as it pertained to HM Industries steadily growing rival, the Seireitei. This was surely another matter, of which they perhaps, would never have full awareness of. Aizen's means and ends could not be questioned. They could only obey.

"To do so, we will begin with a very simple step, one that surely won't cause any of you any unnecessary trouble. I believe that instead, this will prove beneficial to many of you. As of now, some of you will be hosting temporary interns from Karakura University, the business department of which has expressed interest in collaborating with the main branch of our company for some time. I dare say, it should be an honor, to have such young talent looking up to all of you yes?"

Aizen-sama gave his benevolent smile around the table, with soft eyes as if they could not refuse. They dared not, although he did not imagine the swift intake of breath to his right as Nnoitra swiftly sucked his teeth.

"Now then- those of you who I have believed appropriate for this task are as follows- Grimmjow." Followed by a smothered scoff, and all of them could feel his distaste. He didn't spare the man a glance, his eyes still trained on the dark depths of Aizen's eyes. "Syazel. Aaaroniero. Nnoitra." He listens acutely, although through the void. From the outside of an abyss he watches- as the lips part and he knows suddenly they will say his name.

"Ulquiorra."

He wonders if he looks surprised. He wonders, even as he quietly nods his compliance.

"I understand Aizen-sama."

* * *

On this day, it was surely no different from any other of his stagnant existence. He 'awakens' from a void he never seems to leave. Makes bed. Showers. Dresses. Goes to work. Arrives at office. Sits down. Works quietly. His day begins like any other, and he has no doubt it will end the same. In silence. He believes this even now, with the present knowledge that someone will be coming, whose company he will deny like all others. They would not even have the slightest pleasure with him- he was duty bound and nothing more. Anything else would be meaningless. Nonetheless there were things even he did not accept. Tardiness was one of them.

The one who had been assigned to him was late. Fifteen minutes late. He worked onward, uncaring, unthinking- his mind had already been settled regardless. He had not failed in his duty- this one had in theirs. Dismissal at this point was surely not only the most logical course of action but the one that was expected, of this he was certain. Upon the arrival of this unwelcome one, he would perform his duty by informing them that Hueco Mundo Enterprises had not been built on the backs of undisciplined fools.

He thinks this when he hears the elevator ring, signaling their arrival.

He thinks this when he hears the _click clack_ of running footsteps, of hasty yet measured steps. Heels that were too high, legs constrained in a skirt that was too tight.

He thinks this when he hears panted breath, thinks this when his door is flung open and _she_ stampedes through.

He thinks this when he first sees her- arms haphazardly looped through more than a few satchels, a folder filled too bursting with papers in one hand, a folded bag reeking of breakfast cheer in the other. A four holed container filled with two coffees perfectly balanced on her head, half of a bagel held in her mouth. Wide grey eyes. Hair so bright his eyebrow twitches.

She grins, beaming at him from around her cinnamon bagel, her words of good cheer muffled around her food.

"Mornin Boss-sama! Sowwy aim wate!"

A voice too bright, too cheery. Too young. He is surprised almost. He is almost surprised at the swift and sudden realization, the first of its kind perhaps, that he hates her immediately.

* * *

As quick as he is to realize he hates her, he is even quicker to fire her.

He assumes he almost could have been pleased, at the way the joy in her eyes shrivels up and fades. She wolfs down her bagel in her distress, all the better to protest even though the discipline slip is already waiting on his desk. She has not even begun her protests before he is rapidly filling out the 'reason for dismissal' section.

"B-But I haven't even started yet! Hear me out Boss-sama! I went out early to get breakfast for us since I thought it would be nice if we could get to know each other a little better first! I couldn't have known that the bus I rode would break down, that when I tried to run to the coffee shop I would be chased by dogs and drop my purse in a gutter or that I'd have to tap dance on the corner for change or that-" The list continues, getting more and more elaborate. He's signing the form by the time she's drawing her next breath.

"HM industries is a reputable company founded on the strictest of disciplines, thus tardiness will not be accepted regardless of reason. I have no patience for excuses. You have proven yourself incompetent, therefore reprimand in the form of dismissal is acceptable. You are no longer contractually bound to remain on the premises. Leave."

He slides the form towards her, already returning to his work at hand, expecting her eventual silence and begrudging compliance. What he did not expect-

She drops her satchels to the ground, placing her folder on the edge of his desk. The coffee is expertly removed from atop her head, and joins the bag of breakfast she has somehow maneuvered in front of him. She splays her palms over his precious paperwork, the offering between them. He lifts his eyes towards hers, a cold, scathing reply already on his tongue. Her smile is impossibly wide, her wide gray eyes joyous and triumphant.

"Mr. Aizen-sama sure doesn't think so." From nowhere, the slip of paper unfolds and she holds it up to his eyes. He would have recognized the hand script from a kilometer away.

'_Please excuse her tardiness, and play along with her for today._

_Aizen-sama'_

He is not the type of man to lament unfortunate circumstances. But if ever the need existed, it was in this moment.

"Now then-" she pulls up a chair eagerly, too close, far too close- already sweeping his papers into neatly ordered piles alongside his desk. She grins. It is too wide, too bright, too much of everything he despises. But she knows nothing as she folds her hands beneath her chin, and winks at him. _Winks._

"Let's get to know each other shall we?"

* * *

AN: This here is for my lovely reviewers! Apparently I write some dark shit. And not going to lie, sometimes I DO. So here's something nice and fluffy so lemme alone D:

This was inspired by Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei, which I have been rehooked on lately. It's about the world's most negative person who wounds up teaching a class with his opposite, an INVINCIBLE optimist. Also, my forum convos with my homedogs in which we laugh about how anal we think ulqui would be irl as a boss

I like the thought of Orihime working for Ulquiorra (the most negative person ever), and just driving him _apeshitbonkers._ So this will probably be more drabble based and not necessarily a flick with a plot…outside of Orihime driving Ulquiorra half crazy lawls, or unless I decide to do some extra. I just wrote this for fun and my own amusement, but we'll see how it goes. I'm still working on ideas at this point so if anyone has anything they want to see happen, I may give it a shot so let me know in your review ^^


	2. File 02

By the time he is allowed leave, there is some darkness brewing within him that he does not wholly recognize or admit exists. He is surprised- and not pleasantly, since he loathes surprises. It has been quite a while since the void had failed him, since the thick covering sparing him from the world had thinned, had been ruptured. And had allowed other things through- _baser things._ Things of which had no place existing in relation to himself. But this had been the day he mused, as he lay motionless in his cold bed. If there were ever to be a day, a reason, a single instance in which living had suddenly become insufferable it was this. If there were a sole reason for his willing annihilation of world, self, and all in between, its name was Onna.

Something deep within him, the unperturbed, untouchable, darkest part of him squirmed. Squirmed in his chest in a manner that displeased him in one moment more than his entire bleak existence. And its cause was _Onna_.

Orihime Inoue. Random regurgitation of information he cared not for sifted to the forefront of his mind, and yet his infallible memory would not allow him to forget. At times his uncanny perception and ability to recall any and all information relayed to him could curse him- and this was one time of few. She was nineteen. Still too young, still too foolish. Filled with the vigorous energy of a youth who had known no fear, no hardship. Too optimistic. Too…much. Of everything. She lived alone. Someday she wanted to teach children. She liked children. And baking. She could see herself in a bakery, making angels of powdered sugar and dwarves made of gingerbread. Eccentric. Prone to nonsensical chatter and fool hardy action than silence and pondering. She liked bright colors, strange noises, odd food, and fat cats. His office was too large, too big, too empty. It needed color she'd said, it needed life. She smiled often and laughed easily, for reasons that he cared not for and did not wish to know. Her paperwork was in order, but there was no doubt in his mind that this woman was an idiot. Severely lacking in modesty, even the most basic conceptions of personal space, as well as what those in his profession considered to be professionalism. She was too candid, too forward in her naivety, in her innocence. She was…_too much_.

That statement had never suited anyone more. Aizen had spared her once perhaps, but she would not be spared again. There was nothing in this enforced partnership that he looked forward to. But in many ways that thought was a familiar one- he had never looked forward to anything. But remembering the way her rambunctious voice, filled with all the mischievous mirth of a fairy, had echoed in the cold emptiness of his office transfixed him for a moment with a bitterness so strong it was revolting. The very notion of the Onna disturbing his peace for even one more day was more than he wanted to bear, let alone consider.

Sleep was quick, sudden even though he is far from weary. He's devoured by the empty abyss of slumber. It's there, briefly, bitter on his tongue.

Happiness.

* * *

And then it is over.

He awakens. Showers. Dresses. Walks to work, a void. The secretary girls, scowling at him from afar. Ignores. Elevator opens. He walks in. A silent journey upwards to his floor, and it frees him on the fourth. He steps out, and stops.

She's there.

Onna.

Grinning like she's just found out a secret she couldn't wait to share, her eyes wide and mirthful as she stands patiently beside his office door with only a lone satchel in her hand for company. He stares at her. Stares at her as if the void in his chest could sweep her away and swallow her whole. But she is Onna, she knows nothing. She opens his door for him with a wide smile, raising her arm in a mock salute.

"Morning Boss-sama! Orihime here, ready to work!"

He passes her. It is not frustration, nor agitation building in the base of his throat. It is more, and it is less. He disregards it as nothing, and her smile meets his impassive gaze but does not falter. It belies the smug look of success in her eyes, of a strange pleasing pride at the fact that she was early enough to welcome him. He wants to take it from her, when he cares for nothing of the sort. She is onna. She _is_ nothing.

"If you have time to waste on pointless trivialities, I shall find something to occupy your time."

Her smile falters, as if she senses the displeasure he refuses to allow himself to feel. As he passes her by, her eyes do not stray from him- nor does he miss the distinct look on her face as her smile falls, growing hesitant and uncertain. Disappointment. Good. It is a feeling she would soon come to readily acknowledge and accept.

* * *

The tasks he sets before her spare him her chatter. At the very least-for a few brief moments he is given peace. His office has not yet been furnished to accommodate her-nor would it be despite her expectations, not when he has decided she has no worth, no place here. However, she waves it off with a grin, remarking that she's content enough with the floor. He eyes her at the odd request, but allows it. She could have worked her way off his balcony for all it mattered, as long as she showed some degree of proficiency he cared not for her methods, only results.

Now she lay sprawled out on the floor, the sheets neatly spread in front of her, pen in hand. She worries away at the tip with her teeth unconsciously, although he has already checked this habit once. She works with furrowed brow, eyes focused on her duties. She's kicked off the insufferably high heels since he had checked a rather unsettling habit she had of clicking them together. Despite the easy lapse back into much desired silence, the way she swings her feet in return hardly makes it seem like a victory. And with every idle swing of her legs, the short length of her skit, hugged around her hips, seems to rise. Inch. By. Inch. Everything within him that is good and proper, seems to twitch at this.

"Onna." He calls sharply, and she rolls over, quickly seating herself on her legs, her arm raised in that same salute. Her eyes are bright, eager to please as she hurries to pull her face into an expression of utmost seriousness.

"Yes Cifer Boss-sama!"

He had noticed that she had taken it upon herself to name him since her arrival, and the familiar tone of her voice makes something sharp and cold rattle in his chest. He is certain that reprimanding her for the slight would serve no purpose. She would only continue. To spite him.

"Bring me the work you have done."

She nods, hurriedly bending over to gather the work she has completed, not even concerned about the fact that her skirt rides up even higher with the motion. Clearly revealing the fullness of her thighs and hips. He sighs, pausing a moment to put his fingers against his temple. Willing the void back, and wishing he could throw her into it. She finally has all of the completed forms in her arms, and stands up abruptly, turning towards him with a smile.

"Here you go, I finished them all just as you asked Boss-sama!" her voice is filled again with that cheerful, pleasing undertone, as if she expects to be rewarded. He smoothly draws the red pen near his hand, so that he may swiftly and cruelly correct her mistakes.

She eagerly steps towards his desk- and he alone seems to notice the stray pile of paper she has missed by her feet. He motions for her to stop her movements, but it's a moment too late. She steps onto the edge of the pile with her stocking feet, and the weight of them sliding out from under her causes her to slip forward. He knows how this is going to end immediately, and if he has ever wished for an end, it is now as he watches the girl trip, the papers flying from her hands. And naturally, she falls across his desk, the motion from her fall sending her hurtling forward. She comes to a hard stop half bent over his desk, catching herself at the last moment with her hands and elbows splayed against its surface. And it is also in this moment that he realizes that the shirt she has worn is far too low, and he is assaulted with a view that he knows will haunt him into the dark of another sleepless night. And it is also in this moment that hi superior, Gin Ichimaru, walks in.

"Pardon me Ulquiorra-san, I merely came to see how things were going with your new in-"

He pauses mid sentence, carefully assessing the situation with a narrow gaze. The Onna bent provocatively over his desk, her skirt high, the carefully stacked piles of papers he had finished, scattered all around her, a few still drifting lazily through the air to the floor. Her eyes widen as she throws a guilty look over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed pink with an embarrassment that is acute and swift. He watches as the silver haired man raises both eyebrows, and steps back out, swiftly closing the door behind him.

And then the disheartened voice of the Onna hits his ears.

"I-I'm so sorry Boss-sama!"

Hate. He thinks suddenly. Clearly. As she hurries and nearly stumbles again on another wayward form in her attempt to step back from his desk, wringing her hands in distress. She blink big gray eyes at him, slapping her palms together as if she wants to pray for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry honestly! It was an accident! It won't happen again I promise!"

He has finished filling out the dismissal slip before she's had time to finish apologizing. Before he can give it his perfectly angled signature and hurl it coldly into her face, Gin Ichimaru peeks his head back in and begins to interject between the girl's disjointed apologies and excuses. There is a sickening grin beginning to spread on his lips, and he distinctly knows that no matter the words that would follow, he would not like them.

"My apologies. I did not mean to interrupt Cifer-san. Just figured I'd inform you of a rather recent development. Aizen-sama has decided to finalize the intern placements for the remainder of the board's term for the year. And if I may- I _do_ hope that you will look after her, since she will now be working beneath you for the next six months. _Fortunately_ enough for her, since she's not a current employee and is just here for the sake of work experience, her student contract with the company cannot be terminated unless Aizen himself finds her incapable. Learn to get along won't you? I have the utmost confidence in your ability to mentor this malleable young mind if not for your benefit, then for the good of society Ulquiorra-san. Although it seems to me the both of you already have…bonded somewhat. Excuse me then-" and the echo of his snicker as he pulls back out of the room, rings in his head.

The girl is practically ecstatic, nearly jumping for joy as she claps her hands, a wide smile on her face.

"Isn't that great Cifer Boss-sama? Now I have plenty of time to make this up to you! You won't regret having me here, I promise! From here on out, I'm going to do my best just you wait! I look forward to being in your care!" She bows, and the sincerity, and unbridled fervor of the motion causes the thick sunset colored mane to arch like a rainbow over her head.

He sits, motionless, the pen still in his hand, frozen over the dismissal slip. It seems that now the void has taken him, and he is trapped in a cold fist, mocking in its embrace. Like an echo in an empty room, he hears the ominous words repeat in his mind. _Six Months. The Onna will be here for Six Months._

And in this moment, as the Onna rejoices, for the first time in the entirety of his existence he doubts he will live that long.

* * *

**An:/**Completely random, but now I wish I had continued you this awhile ago, for the sole reason that Hueco Mundo Enterprises would have no doubt had a kick ass Christmas Party. Crap. maybe next year? ;,D Once again please excuse the bobos, those suckers are hard to find when you're reading your own ish Getting better at this drabble stuff, I know they are supposed to be short (Good intentions as you can see, the drabbles are here I just...keep putting alot of them together at one time)- and while I do love the abruptness of the drabble and what it can convey in so few words I can't help but feel that every time I write one it's not enough of...something. Hmm. I'm working on it. However If everyone would prefer the drabbles one at time for the sake of fast updates, i could do that too. Let me know, and thanks for reading and reviewing!


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